


tomorrow will be kinder

by caliban_squalor (orphan_account)



Series: a world we call our own [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: AU obviously, F/M, Fluff, Jacques and Beatrice broTP, Lots of it, Olivia and Lemony broTP, contains references to fics I haven't written yet, don't mind me I'm just trying to keep you interested and myself motivated, i'm trash for the Snicket siblings and the beautiful nerds they love, read her fic first it's amazing, response fic, this is all brandflakeee's fault, this started as a oneshot and became a two-shot, this will be part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/caliban_squalor
Summary: "It's over, it's done, let's go. We're going to be okay."(Two-shot based on chapters 11 and 12 of brandflakeeee's "will you catch me if i fall?")





	1. around me lies a somber scene

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me. If you've read any Jacques/Olivia fic on this site, you've probably seen my rambling comments. Well, I've started writing fic based on brandflakeeee's work of art, "will you catch me if i fall?", AKA my accepted canon. I have such a range of ideas that I'm going to make them a series instead of one big fic. Here's the first installment (I might put everything in chronological order later, but I also might not. We'll see).
> 
> This is basically the second half of chapter 11 from Olivia's POV. Feel free to comment.

“Go. Get to the car. I’m right behind you.”

Beatrice had Count Olaf pinned to the stage, her eyes burning with a resigned darkness Olivia Caliban hoped her own eyes would never hold. The librarian protested, but a firm hand on her arm stopped her.

“Go check on Lemony,” Jacques half-whispered. His own eyes begged her to obey, not just to make sure his brother would be alright but also to keep her from witnessing what every person on the stage knew was about to happen.

Olivia glanced from him to Beatrice and knew arguing was pointless. She turned and swept out of the theater as quickly as she could in her high heels.

She saw that Jacques had moved the taxi to the front row of the now-empty parking lot when he had taken his brother to the car just a few minutes beforehand. Olivia reached into a well-hidden pocket in her dress and pulled out her copy of the keys, still flattered that Jacques trusted her with something as important to him as his taxi.

Now that she’d left the fight, which seemed to be almost over anyway, the adrenaline was wearing off and her hand shook as she turned the key in the door.

She opened the backseat passenger door and tried not to gasp, even though no one could have heard. She had only seen Lemony’s unconscious body from something of a distance on the stage. Up close, he was deathly pale and scarily still, what Olivia imagined a corpse to look like. She had never seen a dead body and hoped she never would, though perhaps that hope was in vain now that she’d joined VFD. She’d come close recently, but she had been around a corner responding to Jacquelyn’s scream for help at the moment Esmé Squalor had breathed her last. Only in hindsight could Olivia remember seeing a flash of something like relief in Jacques’ eyes when she had left him alone with a weakened Esmé. He had recruited and trained Olivia, but he also tried to protect her at every turn from the harsh realities she increasingly realized were integral to this fractured organization, even on their side.

“The good guys, right?” Olivia had asked Beatrice just moments after they had first met.

“Sometimes,” had been the reply. Olivia had not yet understood but figured she would get there eventually, and that time had now come. The members of the fire-fighting side were heroes of sorts and nothing like Olaf and the company he kept, but they weren’t as morally immaculate as they claimed to be.

 _Then again, who is?_ she thought as she knelt and gingerly pressed two fingers to Lemony’s neck. She let out an exhale she didn’t know she had been repressing when she felt a pulse, and she let the rhythm steady her own breathing. She still barely knew Lemony Snicket, given his taciturn nature and the very little time they’d spent in each other’s company, so she couldn’t call him a friend just yet, but they were comrades, and he was Jacques’ brother and Beatrice’s true love, and maybe her own future brother-in-law — no, this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that, Olivia reminded herself. Regardless, she felt somewhat attached to and currently quite protective of the man lying across the backseat of Jacques’ taxi.

Olivia kept her fingers on his neck and watched him breathe. A sense of relief set in ever so slightly. Lemony was alive. So was she. So were Jacques and Beatrice, as Olaf had seemed in no position to overpower them when Olivia had walked away. So was Kit, and so were Beatrice’s children — one of whom was Lemony’s.

In the midst of her own shock at the revelation, Olivia had squinted through the darkness in the catwalks and seen the look of utter disbelief on Jacques’ face. He almost certainly wasn’t upset with Beatrice, Olivia presumed, but she wondered if Lemony was. It would make sense, considering the enormity of the secret Beatrice had hidden for almost fifteen years. Not that Lemony wouldn’t forgive her, of course. He loved her too much not to do so.

The sound of the theater door opening and closing broke Olivia’s reverie. She stood up to see, to her continued relief, Jacques Snicket striding toward her, his brother and the car.

“His pulse is steady,” Olivia said as he approached and before he could ask. “I think he’ll be fine, but the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“Good,” Jacques said tersely as he leaned against the front passenger door. “Beatrice should be here soon.” The unspoken truth of why their friend was still in the theater hung between them.

Olivia knew Jacques must be an accomplice in what Beatrice was about to do; otherwise he would have followed his partner out of the theater like Beatrice had initially ordered. Olivia chose not to ask Jacques what he’d done or even to think about it. The world was better off without Olaf, just like with Esmé, she told herself.

She stepped away from Lemony and moved next to Jacques, leaning against both him and the car. He put his arm around her, a gesture that injected some peace into the moment despite the faint smell of smoke that had started to pervade the air.

Olivia broke the silence. “You had no idea, did you?”

Jacques knew exactly what she meant. “No,” he said. “Violet looks so much like Beatrice that I’m sure no one suspected anything. They got incredibly lucky in that sense. Although I once entertained the notion that Violet had my brother’s eyes.”

“Really? When?”

“When we were all camping out in the meeting room after we came up with the plan. I made eye contact with Violet when she passed me the sandwiches, and those eyes looked remarkably like Lemony’s on the rare occasion that he smiles, and I dismissed the thought as soon as it came because I assumed I’d imagined it.” Jacques spoke softly and emotionlessly, more like his brother than Olivia had ever seen him.

“I wonder how she’ll react. Or Klaus. Or Kit. Or—”

“We’ll find out,” Jacques said with a gentle tone of finality.

The couple fell silent again and willfully ignored the tendrils of smoke that had begun to rise from the building. Jacques let his fingers play with Olivia’s hair, which had come loose from its updo during the fight with Olaf. The fight in which the two of them had been flawlessly synchronized, reading each other’s body language fluently, moving as one unit, one force.

“I keep wondering where you’ve been all my life,” Jacques had said to her that night in the meeting room when they had taken the first watch together.

“I’ve wondered the same about you,” she’d replied. He had planted a kiss on her temple, and she had answered with one on his lips. In hindsight, they weren’t as watchful during their shift as they probably should have been.

There was no such levity and plenty of vigilance between them now as they waited. They were both too aware that Beatrice’s survival hinged on an act none of them condoned — or two acts, specifically murder and arson, as the latter became increasingly obvious.

The scent of smoke harshened, and a faint crackling sound became audible. Olivia tensed and felt Jacques do the same. The adrenaline threatened to resurge.

And resurge it did when Beatrice stumbled out of the theater, falling to the ground the instant the door shut behind her. Olivia covered half the distance between them before she was even aware that she had moved.

“Beatrice!” The woman on the ground gave no noticeable response.

Once again Olivia remembered their first meeting, when Beatrice had growled, “Olaf is mine.” The fierce, formidable mother from the first VFD safe house had been correct, but that Beatrice Baudelaire was a far cry from the gasping, distraught woman in the ripped, bloodstained blue and silver dress on her hands and knees in front of the burning theater.

“Beatrice.” Olivia knelt and took her by the wrists, silently urging her to stand. Her friend lifted her head painfully slowly and their eyes met. Beatrice’s gaze was glassy, disengaged and weary. Olivia pulled her to her feet, trying not to be too forceful but unsure if Beatrice would even perceive it if she was.

“We’re leaving, Beatrice. It’s over, it’s done, let’s go.”

Olivia squeezed the other woman’s hands and elicited the smallest nod from her. She put a hand on Beatrice’s upper back and guided her toward the still-open door to the backseat of the taxi.

“We’re going to be okay,” Olivia told herself as well as Beatrice.

Jacques watched the pair intently, ready to help if needed, but Beatrice had synchronized her steps with Olivia’s by the time they reached the cab, and she carefully lifted Lemony’s head and laid it in her lap as she sat down.

Olivia closed the car door to see that Jacques had already slid into the front passenger seat. He didn’t want his girlfriend to have a hand in someone’s death or see a dead body, but he seemed perfectly fine with her driving the getaway vehicle. She would laugh about that later, she decided as she took her place behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition.

As she drove the four of them away, she absorbed her own words to Beatrice: _It’s over. It’s done_.

“We’ll never see Count Olaf again,” she said as if she wasn’t yet certain of it.

“Never,” Jacques murmured next to her.

“I feel like I should be more relieved than I am.” 

“It’ll sink in before long. Don’t worry about it.”

They changed the subject to logistics: where they were headed (the same place they’d come from) and how soon they should contact Kit (tomorrow morning) and who was going to tend to Beatrice and Lemony’s injuries (Olivia, since their usual nurse was currently incapacitated with his head on his partner’s thigh). They spoke too quietly for Beatrice to hear, although she likely wouldn’t have heard them if they were shouting.

Olivia kept her eyes on the road, due as much to her determination to get the group to safety as to the rules of safe driving. She could hear Beatrice sobbing uncontrollably and chanced a look in the rearview mirror while stopped at a red light. Her heart broke a little at the sight of a despondent Beatrice bent over with her head on Lemony’s chest.

“I should think we’d make very good friends,” Beatrice had told Olivia before they had left for the theater just a few hours previously, though it felt like a million years ago.

“I think we already are.”

“What?” Jacques asked.

Olivia blushed slightly. She hadn’t meant to think out loud. “Nothing.”

Jacques didn’t say anything else until he muttered, “I’ve got her,” as Olivia parked the car at their destination. He got out, opened Beatrice’s door and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched violently, her own hands suddenly in fists.

“It’s me, Beatrice, it’s just me,” he whispered. “You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Olivia watched Jacques’ friend of so many years visibly relax. Beatrice’s mascara covered much of her face after all that sobbing, but her expression, even more weary than before, must have been what made Jacques recoil when she turned to look at him. The look on his face conveyed an immense amount of emotion for the woman who had almost been (and maybe someday would finally be) Jacques’ sister-in-law. He had told Olivia that he saw Beatrice as his second sister, but hearing that fact and seeing it were two different things. Olivia’s heart swelled a bit.

She realized she should be helping instead of marveling at Jacques and Beatrice’s friendship. She ended up doing both, standing in front of an open car door and a still-unconscious Lemony, watching Beatrice bury her face in Jacques’ chest as he effortlessly carried her to safety.

Olivia looked at the man in the car, then back at his brother and her new best friend.

“We’re going to be okay,” she said again.

She knew Lemony couldn’t hear her, and neither could Jacques and Beatrice, who were almost at the door to the shop. She knew Olaf’s death took a huge weight off everyone’s shoulders, but his last few acts of treachery meant their troubles weren’t yet over. She knew their side had gone to battle that night and come back bruised and battered, both figuratively and literally, but alive and victorious.

She knew enough to be sure they would in fact be okay, no matter what tomorrow would bring.


	2. a brighter day is coming my way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during chapter 12, with references to chapter 9 and brandflakeeee's oneshot "is it cool that i said all that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue is easy to write. Everything around it, not so much. I'm a perfectionist, so this took forever. Hope y'all enjoy. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Dark green eyes blinked open laboriously to meet worried brown ones behind smudged lenses.

“Olivia,” Lemony murmured almost too softly for his caretaker to hear.

“Take these. For the pain,” she said, holding a few pills in one hand and a glass of tepid water in the other.

“What happened?” He glanced around the meeting room, the place where their group had slept the last few nights, the place where they’d formulated their plan, which had come to a head in the theater, the last place he’d been conscious. Olivia watched Lemony realize that the situation on the stage had concluded somehow, and that he was safe and so was she, but two people they both loved were nowhere in sight. “Where are—"

“Beatrice and Jacques are safe,” Olivia answered Lemony’s unfinished question. “They’re downstairs drinking tea. I’ll fill you in on what you missed after you take these.” She nudged his hands with her own. He forced the pills down his throat, with Olivia’s hand guiding his shaking one that held the water glass.

When she was sure he’d swallowed the pills, Olivia said softly, “Olaf is dead.”

Their eyes locked again. His were unfathomable. “She did it,” he said.

“Yes,” Olivia confirmed, though she didn’t need to. She hesitated, then chose to be as concise as possible. “The theater burned down.”

He knew what she meant. A few beats of silence passed before he said, “That’s fitting.”

She nodded and quickly turned the conversation away from Count Olaf. “Well, before that, Jacques and I knocked out Olaf’s henchpeople, I got Beatrice out of the handcuffs, and the three of us overpowered Olaf in hand-to-hand combat. Jacques carried you out to the taxi, and then up the stairs when we got here. He carried Beatrice inside, too.”

“Always the heroic one,” Lemony said with the slightest bit of admiration in his tone. “She’s all right, then?”

“As much as she can be,” Olivia said. “Exhausted, mentally and physically, but she’ll be fine. I’m much more worried about you.” She carefully removed the ice pack from where she had positioned it between Lemony’s head, his shoulder and the wall behind him.

“So that’s what that cold thing was,” he said, and Olivia suppressed a chuckle.

“Luckily nothing’s broken, but you’ve almost certainly got several bone bruises, and you might have a concussion,” she said. “Now that you’re awake, you should stay that way.”

“Should I now? I’m fairly exhausted myself.”

“If you really are concussed, falling asleep is the worst thing for you.”

He seemed ready to protest, but she gave him an authoritative look she had often used on uncooperative students at Prufrock Prep (though not on Carmelita Spats, who often received her own designated look, a blend of exasperation and fury, from the school librarian).

“You’re nervous,” she said suddenly. Lemony frowned at her.

“Your hand is twitching,” Olivia explained. “Jacques does the same thing when he’s nervous.”

Lemony’s hand stilled, but he admitted, “I am. Bordering on anxious.”

“Beatrice will come up here when she’s ready,” Olivia said gently. “‘Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.’”

“Rousseau said that,” Lemony said. “I can see why my brother loves you.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“I can.” He didn’t elaborate. A few seconds passed before he changed the subject.

“You’re wearing his shirt.”

Olivia blushed. She hadn’t been particularly focused when she had hurriedly changed out of her dress and heels upon their return to the shop. She realized she’d ended up in her own black leather pants and a soft white button-down that did in fact belong to Jacques.

“Yes,” she said, unsure why it made her smile. “It was the first one I saw.” 

Lemony managed a minuscule smile of his own and said, “Beatrice borrows my sweaters sometimes.”

“I’ll go see if she wants to come up here,” Olivia said. “Stay awake.”

“I will,” Lemony replied. A pause, and then, “Thank you." 

“What for?”

He seemed to struggle for a second with what to say. “Rescuing Beatrice,” he said. “More than once. And the children. And me.”

Flattered as she was, Olivia knew all those situations had a common denominator. “I couldn’t have done any of that without Jacques,” she said.

“Well, I doubt he could have done it without you,” Lemony countered.

There was no longer a doubt in Olivia’s mind that Lemony Snicket was her friend. She gave him a grateful smile just before she left the room.

***

Olivia watched Beatrice start to painfully ascend the staircase. She didn’t look away until her friend was five steps up and it was mostly clear that she wouldn’t collapse.

Fatigue started to set in as Olivia sat down next to Jacques on the side where Beatrice hadn’t been. _I could fall asleep here, just leaning against him and the wall_ , she thought. Before she could rest her head on Jacques’ shoulder, his hand was on her jaw and he lifted her face to his. Their lips met.

Their last kiss before leaving for the theater had been achingly slow, a mutual decision to savor the moment since they had known that no matter what happened that night, no matter who lived or died, things would be very different afterward. Now that the mission was over, and they were alive and well and so were the two people upstairs, and the specter of treachery no longer flitted through the shop like dim light from a film projector, this was another moment well worth savoring.

They kissed like it was their first and last time, with all the satisfaction of knowing it was neither. Jacques tasted like tea and smelled like smoke and cologne. Olivia ran her fingers through his hair and swung her legs over his so she was practically in his lap. Despite the solid floor beneath them, she was quite sure she had never been more comfortable.

His hand moved from her jaw to her thigh and up to her waist, and then he unexpectedly broke the kiss.

“What?” asked Olivia, reluctant to pull away from him.

His eyes roamed up and down her figure before he said, “That’s my shirt.”

She blushed again. “In my defense, I was a bit preoccupied.”

He grinned. “No need for a defense. You look good in it.”

She grinned back, remembering what Beatrice had told her only a few hours earlier: “Between you and me, he’d love you wearing a potato sack.”

Her grin widened as she rubbed a bit of her lipstick off his face with her thumb.

“Again?” he asked, and she laughed as she leaned her head against his shoulder. They were content to sit there for a while, just the two of them on the kitchenette floor in the midnight silence, the closest thing to a quiet world they had found in the time they had known each other.

Finally, Olivia lifted her head and asked, “So what do we have to discuss?”

Jacques pulled a slip of paper out of the breast pocket of the suit he was still wearing from their unconventional night out. Olivia unfolded it and muttered, “Sebald Code.” Jacques had taught her the basics, and the avid reader in her had been eager to learn. Still, it took her a minute to decipher the coded note. When she did, she gasped.

“They’re safe.” The combination of relief and exhaustion brought a few tears to her eyes. “The Quagmires. All three of them.”

They had already been aware that Quigley survived the Quagmire fire; Jacques had known it longer than he had known Olivia, and he had last seen the boy at Monty Montgomery’s house. As much as he and Olivia had hoped Quigley would survive the search for his siblings, they had thought it too rash to assume it would happen, so they hadn’t mentioned Quigley’s survival to their companions in case the worst happened. But Quigley was alive and safe and reunited with his brother and sister ( _just like Lemony_ , Olivia thought). She remembered the look on Jacques’ face when they had received a certain message, at the very moment they had been discussing —

“It feels like a long time ago that we were talking about becoming their guardians.” Jacques was right on her wavelength, as usual.

“Not just theirs,” Olivia said. “If Beatrice weren’t alive…”

“And about five seconds later, we found out she is,” Jacques said. They were silent for a few seconds, both thinking about how much had transpired in such a short time.

Olivia broke the silence. “That does feel like ages ago. She’s my best friend now. Besides you, of course,” she added with a quick kiss to his cheek

“So what do you say?” he asked. “Are you still in?”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Still in?”

“You said you wanted to protect those kids too,” Jacques explained. “I’m taking them in for sure. It’s your call, but I’d very much love it if you’d be their guardian with me.” He squeezed her hand. “Like you said, we’re partners.” 

Olivia saw nothing but sincerity in Jacques’ blue eyes and still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She had meant what she said about being the Quagmires’ guardians together, but it had been more difficult to picture at the time: the Quagmires had still been in Olaf’s clutches, as had the Baudelaires, and she had still only just met the man in front of her. As soon as the offer was out of her mouth, she had half-wished she could take it back — what was she thinking, picturing a future with this man she probably didn’t deserve, even for the sake of three (maybe six, at the time) unlucky orphans?

But to her surprise and delight, he had said he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve _her_. She had been hesitant to interpret that as an acceptance of the offer, and they hadn’t broached the subject since, but now she could be sure it indeed was.

The prospect of adopting the Quagmires made even more sense now than it had at the time. Whether she and Jacques were scaling buildings and rescuing children or fighting villains and protecting their friends, they were always in sync, always looking out for each other and the people they cared about. Their already strong partnership would only get stronger from here.

So it was with the utmost confidence that Olivia said, “I will absolutely adopt those triplets with you, Jacques Snicket.”

She didn’t notice that his hand, which was on her thigh again, had been twitching until it stopped.

“I love you so much,” he said, beaming.

“And I you.” She returned his smile and kissed him again.

“Thanks for taking care of my brother,” he whispered when they came up for air, their foreheads touching.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I know, but I’m doing it anyway.”

Olivia’s expression became serious. “Speaking of Lemony, we should check on him and Beatrice.”

“They aren’t going anywhere.”

“She was practically falling asleep when I came down here.”

“So? She deserves some rest.”

“If she falls asleep, he might too.”

Jacques’ expression turned serious as well. “A valid concern,” he said, sitting up straighter. “We’ll check on them, as long as we’re not interrupting a very important conversation.”

“Excellent point.”

Jacques stood and held out a hand for his partner. “We’ll eavesdrop. It’s a vital VFD skill,” he said in response to Olivia’s quizzical look. “The Quagmires’ father was incredible at it.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about their parents sometime." 

“Maybe they’ll tell you themselves.”

The two shared a warm smile as they headed for the stairs. 

***

“Good, you’re still conscious,” was the first thing Olivia said upon walking into the room (after her and Jacques’ attempted eavesdropping had yielded only silence).

“We’d better keep you talking so you don’t pass out,” Jacques said to his brother.

Lemony nodded slowly. “Much appreciated, because someone’s not much help in that regard.” He glanced at Beatrice, who was tucked snugly against his side, apparently asleep.

“Everything all right between you two?” Jacques asked hesitantly. Lemony nodded again, and Jacques grinned. “I thought so. You’ve never been able to stay angry at her. Or vice versa. So when’s the wedding?”

His question received two pairs of raised eyebrows and a small gasp from Olivia.

“I noticed she’s wearing the ring again,” Jacques explained, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Lemony smirked. “I wondered if you would.”

“When did this happen?” Olivia asked.

“Right before we left for the theater.”

Jacques chuckled. “Ah, that explains a thing or two.”

“Says the man who came downstairs with lipstick on his face,” Lemony retorted. “I hope you realize you can never again poke fun at me for mooning over a woman.”

“That was years ago.”

“That’s not much of a defense.”

In the time she had known the Snicket brothers, Olivia hadn’t yet heard them bicker, and she had to admit it was refreshing. It felt like a sign that danger was truly no longer imminent.

“So I assume you two heard everything.”

Lemony was nothing if not blunt, Olivia noted. His eyes darted between her and his brother.

This time it was Jacques’ turn to smirk. “What I heard,” he said, “is that our sister can no longer brag about being the first of us to have a kid.”

Lemony rolled his eyes. “I should have known she’d create bragging rights out of it,” he said, prompting a laugh from Olivia.

The group kept talking, completely unmindful of the time or the fact that three-fourths of them were still in their formalwear. Eventually, Beatrice stirred, making a few noises of discomfort as she came to her senses with three pairs of concerned eyes on her.

“You’re hurting,” Olivia said.

“It would be worse without the painkillers, I’m sure,” Beatrice replied, “but I don’t know which I hated more, Olaf or his cane.”

Olivia stood. “I’ll go get you a fresh ice pack.”

Beatrice sighed. “What did we all do to deserve you, Olivia Caliban?”

“I’ve been asking the same question,” Jacques said, and Beatrice gave him a knowing look.

“About all of us,” she asked, “or just you?”

Jacques shrugged innocently. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“I thought so.” Beatrice’s smug smile turned to a wince as she fidgeted, and Olivia took that as her cue to leave.

“I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder. She was several steps down the stairs before Beatrice asked Jacques, “Is that your shirt she’s wearing?”

Jacques’ eyes still hadn’t left the doorway. “You noticed.”

“We both did,” Lemony said. “So when are you going to propose?”

Beatrice let out a weak huff of laughter at her partner’s audacity, but Jacques didn’t even flinch, as if he expected such a question. A few seconds passed, and he tore his eyes away from the door and lowered his voice.

“I’ll figure that out,” he said in all seriousness, “as soon as I track down our mother’s ring."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go. Some fluff and some peace are especially necessary now that brandflakeeee has started the sequel, and the first two chapters are already an emotional roller coaster. Chapter 2 already has me writing response fic. I'll be super busy through the end of May, but I'll post when I can.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a oneshot, but chapter 12 begged me to write a second part, so I'm working on that. Stay tuned. 
> 
> Fic and chapter titles from a song by the Secret Sisters, from The Hunger Games soundtrack. Series title from Tightrope by Michelle Williams from The Greatest Showman, a major inspiration for brandflakeeee's fic itself.


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